


Rough

by Lianria



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 09:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21354244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lianria/pseuds/Lianria
Summary: Gendry watches men try and fail to entice Arya and the drinks they use to do so. Takes place sometime after Arya returns to Westeros and is running about with the BWB again.
Relationships: Anguy/ Jeyne Heddle, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 18
Kudos: 145





	Rough

Gendry smirks as he leans back against the wall of the tavern area of the Inn at the Crossroads, taking a drink of his ale as he watches the group of travelers. He can see at least three of the men eyeing Arya from her spot in the corner coaching Willow through a game of cyvasse against Anguy. Elm sits beside him and chuckles when, sure enough, one man gets up and heads to the bar.

He motions to Arya and based on Jeyne's puzzled expression, Gendry knows the man asked for a cup of the best mulled wine she had. Jeyne shrugs and pours the cup, sending a smirk at Gendry as soon as the coin is in her hand. The man straightens his shoulders before heading towards the dark haired woman getting her attention. Gendry can imagine the mans words as Arya looks confused, then downright insulted when the man offers her his arm and the glass of wine.

He returns to his table alone and still holding the glass, much to the amusement of the others in his party.

Sometime later, the room is warm from both the hearth fires and the mass of people dancing to whatever song Tom strikes up. Some country reel Gendry isn't sure, but Arya and Jeyne laugh as they spin about to the lively tune. Yet another of the travelers stands and heads for the bar, this time returning with a tankard of Ale. The man moves to intercept Arya on her way back to her seat and offers her the tankard motioning towards a dark corner of the tavern. Arya shakes her head and points to her, recently filled, tankard before sitting herself down and engaging Anguy in another game of cyvasse. The man rejoins his group looking embarrassed and angry, his eyes never leaving the woman.

After a few moments Gendry has had enough. He stands and heads for the bar, taking the small cup and fresh tankard that Willow has waiting for him. He sits the cup by Arya's hand and settles himself down beside her, against the wall and facing the group of men watching him with pitying looks that turn into shocked expressions of disbelief. He could understand that, they were well dressed for travelers where as he was in leather breeches and a shirt that used to be white but was now a sooty grey, and the most beautiful woman in the place welcomed him.

Arya grins at him and throws the drink back, her eyes closing briefly at the burn of the rum.

As the fires die, the travelers give up their vigil of both glaring at and drooling over the woman now leaning against the smith, and head up to their rooms. The men of the brotherhood seek their own beds, or in Anguy case Jeyne's bed. Arya stands and drags Gendry out to his little room off the back of the forge. He gets a small fire going and sets a clean rag into the small kettle of water near the flames, while she makes sure the door is bolted well against the early spring winds.

Gendry turns and his arms are quickly filled with naked Arya. She nips and bites her way down his chest after yanking his shirt off. His laces untie with a single pull of her teeth. Gendry fists his hands in her hair, gently pulling her upright against him for a bruising kiss. Arya spins them and backs him towards the bed. Just as she pushes him to lay down, he rolls to end up on top of her. Burying his face in her neck, he sucks a bruise into the pale flesh that he knows she will make him pay for later.

Her nails dig into his shoulders and back as he enters her, his fingers gripping her hips bruising the flesh there. His hard thrusts slowly move her up the bed, as one hand winds itself into her hair to pull her back against him. Her nails scrape up his back to bury in his hair, and with a twist of her legs around his hips and her hands directing his head, the pair roll to his back. Arya digs her nails into his chest as she slams her hips into his, desperately chasing their building release. His hands grip her hips, pulling her down to him, as one thumb stretches down to press against the little nub between her legs. Her nails scratch down his chest as her back arches and she comes undone around him. The sting of her nails, the grip of her cunt and the sound she makes drag him into pleasure along with her. The wolf's howl mixes with the bellow of the bull.

Arya drops to his chest as they catch their breath for a moment. Soft kisses slow the ease of their pleasure, but eventually Gendry pulls out of her body. They each slowly stand, Gendry to retrieve a cloth from the kettle near the fire before putting the kettle in the flames to boil. Arya moves beside him, putting a small sachet of herbs into the mug in her hands. Gendry uses the warm wet rag to clean her legs of their fluids before doing the same to himself. Arya pulls the kettle out and pours the hot water into the mug setting it aside to steep for a few moments.

The pair move about setting things out for the morning, Arya sipping on her tea as Gendry finally gets into the bed watching her. Arya finished her tea and climbed in beside him, snuggling into his warmth.

As she drifted off Gendry thought about the night, a smirk on his face. Those men had never stood a chance with his wolf. They didn't know the first thing about her, only approaching her because she was a beautiful woman and dressed scandalously for most in her breeches and tunic. He gently rubs his fingers over one of her small scars from Braavos, one that almost looks like a small bulls head. Gendry knew she hated wine it gave her a horrible headache the next day, she loathed the fruity sickly sweet liquors of Essos, ale she could drink like water. No Arya needed something with a little rage, a little pain.

Her edges were ragged, but he liked her rough.


End file.
